


Pagan

by moorehawke



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, Supernatural, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angels vs Greek Gods, Gen, Mythology - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6048763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moorehawke/pseuds/moorehawke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It shouldn't be surprising that angels hold grudges for obscenely long amounts of time. However, something about the fact that they're targeting this kid because of what his dad did millions of years ago seems a just little over the top.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I should be writing my main fic, but hey. Have this pile of crap instead!

Of all the 'burger' places in New York, they just had to come here.

Sam looked around, a disgusted expression plastered onto his face. The room was unnaturally bright, an off-white colour staining the walls into a permanent state of grubbiness. Bleeps and whirs could be heard from behind the counter as food was ordered, made and delivered in under a minute. The smell of oil filled the air.

McDonald's. He couldn't believe they'd sunk so low.

Dean had volunteered to order and was now flirting with the girl behind the counter, a small brunette with freckled skin and a green alice band. Cas, who had accompanied them rather than teleport off to wherever he went when he wasn't with the brothers, was sitting at a nearby table, squinting at the wall.

The wall was not squinting back.

Sam sat down beside the angel and set his backpack on the counter, pulling out his laptop. Opening it, he had begun to check for some kind of WiFi system when he saw Cas stiffen out of the corner of his eye.

A blast of cold air washed over Sam as he heard the door to the eatery open and close. Light footsteps made their way to the counter and a soft voice spoke up.

"Six Happy Meals, please."

Sam turned around and looked over at the counter. The person who'd just ordered was a kid, early teens, dressed entirely in black. He had dark, messy hair, and his voice had a slight Italian turn to it. His clothes were ripped and frayed. Strapped to his side was a sword.

Sam had to do a double take at the last feature.

He blinked.

The sword flickered, but was still there.

He blinked again.

Still there.

He closed his eyes, shook his head, and took another look.

There was still a goddamn sword hanging from the teenager's waist.

It definitely wasn't some kind of prop or toy, ether - he could see the metal shining under the McDonald's fluorescents, and the edges looked wickedly sharp. This was a 100%, bona-fide, deadly-as-hell medieval weapon.

Sam looked at the girl who was making the Happy Meals, the one who had taken his order. She was smiling as she entered the meal into the system. No hint of nerves whatsoever. She hadn't seen it.

No screaming. No shouts of "Holy shit! get away from that kid!" Nothing.

For all intents and purposes, it didn't look like anyone else could see the archaic blade this kid was toting around.

Weird.

Cas was still rigid, his squint having turned into a full-on glare at the wall. Sam had begun to wonder if he could actually burn a hole in the brickwork when Dean returned to the table with three Big Mac combos. Seeing the angel, Sam's brother stopped and stared. "Cas," he asked, "what the hell are you doing?"

Cas gave no response other than a faint shake of his head. Dean looked over at Sam, who shrugged and said, "I think it's a competition."

Dean shrugged and sat down.

Sam looked back over at the kid as Dean handed him a burger before returning his gaze to his brother. "Do you see the kid over there?"

"Yeah, shrimpy little goth. What about him?"

"Well, don't you think we should find out what's up with him?"

Dean looked up from his burger with suspicion. "...No." he replied slowly. "He's a kid who stayed out too late. Let's leave him to his Happy Meals."

"Wait," Sam said. "You don't see the sword?"

Dean stopped chewing, peering behind Sam to look at the kid before shaking his head. "You been sleeping lately? Like, at all?"

"Of course I have, Dean, what kind of question is that?"

"Nothing, it's just, you're acting weird. That kid is unarmed."

"That's not what I'm seeing."

Dean reappraised his little brother. "Alright. Maybe it's one of your weird-ass psychic things. Tell you what, we'll follow the kid for a bit when he leaves. See if he does anything creepy."

 

-

 

And so they waited, Cas stiff as the dead on the seat next to Sam, Dean facing the kid so he could see when he left, and Sam eating his burger nervously, reviewing what he thought he'd seen.

_I'm not going crazy, am I?_

He didn't think so, but in his line of work, it was kind of hard to tell.

After about ten minutes of tense expectation, Dean shifted and muttered, "he's leaving." They waited for a few seconds before getting up, leaving their burger wrappers on the table and heading out the door. As they exited, one of the MacDonalds staff glared at them.

Outside, the air was cold. Sam pulled his coat tighter around himself as he followed Dean down the street in pursuit of the kid. Cas walked beside him, practically silent as he moved, but with a certain stiffness about him, almost as if he were angry. What's up with him?

The kid strode down the street with quick, light footsteps, several uneaten Happy Meals in his hands. He hadn't yet noticed the trio following him.

Sam checked.

He was still wearing the sword.

_God dammit._

-

When the kid stopped in a graveyard, Dean was surprised. He'd assumed they'd be following him to an apartment block, getting annoyed for wasting time, and leaving, end of story.  
But graveyards? Creepy, full of dead people, generally not good places for kids.

Well shit, they'd picked out an actual weirdo to tail.

The kid wandered through the graveyard for a good few minutes before stopping underneath a tall oak tree. He placed the Happy Meals on the ground and began unpacking them, lining the toys up in order of size on a gravestone next to him.

Dean, Cas and Sam kept back in the shadows, watching cautiously.

When the Happy Meals were completely dissected, the kid stepped back and began to speak.

"Mortos accedo," he said.

Was it just Dean's imagination, or were the shadows shifting?

''Morti, me audite et venite-"

Dean didn't notice Cas moving until it was too late. Suddenly, without warning, the angel had the kid pinned to the tree by his throat, a knife at his neck.

"Pagan scum," he growled.

Sometimes Dean hated that feather-assed idiot.

The kid struggled, and the shadows moved with him, surrounding the pair until it was almost impossible to see through the inky blackness.

"Cas!" Dean yelled. "What the hell are you doing?"

The angel either didn't hear him or didn't care to respond. The shadows thickened, and Cas somehow simultaneously grew brighter, echoes of wings appearing at his back. Sam and Dean brought their arms to their faces, ready to shield their eyes.

The wings seemed to shock the kid. He stopped moving for a second, and so did the shadows.

"Leave," Cas growled at him, letting go of his neck. The kid stumbled and regained his footing, rubbing his neck.

"Di immortales, you're rude. A simple 'get out of my graveyard', would have sufficed, you stinking grave spirit!"

"Grave spirit?" Dean was confused. "Cas, what's he talking about?"

Cas turned, presumably to explain what the kid had meant to Dean and Sam, but the kid spoke again before he could say a word. "Mortals? Really? I am so not sticking around to deal with this. Good luck on your own, bird-brain."

With a final glare at Cas, shadows leapt up around the kid once more and engulfed his small frame. In less than a second, he was gone.

His parting words echoed through the tombstones; _"Next time, mark your graveyards before you start defending them!"_

A moment of silence. Dean turned to Cas.

"Would you mind telling us what the hell just happened?"

-

And so it was back to Macca's for more crappy burgers, sugar-filled sodas and in-depth conversations.

Or it would be, if Macca's were still open.

"What kind of a shop stays open until three thirty in the morning and then just closes until five? It's crappy marketing, that's what it is. I'm hungry!" Dean grumbled continuously as they made their way back to the Impala. The only thing left to do was find a decent motel to stay the night. They sure as hell weren't leaving after that debacle in the graveyard.

"Who was that kid?" Sam asked. Cas looked at him.

"Pagan demigod." Cas rumbled discontentedly.

"Demigod? Are you kidding me? Why the hell would there be demigods in America? Aren't they supposed to be from Italy or something?" Dean was evidently still annoyed at the loss of his much-anticipated second burger. Sam made a mental note to find food as soon as possible. When Dean got hungry, he became one angry son of a bitch.

"Demigods worship the deities of Ancient Greece," Cas continued, "who used to operate under God's influence, but above Angels - before they were excommunicated from Heaven. To see one outside one of their camps is unusual."

"Camps? You mean there are more of these guys? How many?"

"Somewhere between five hundred and several thousand. Their settlements are protected by enchantments, and to cross them would cause more trouble than it's worth. Outside of their walls, they're not welcome. They've been known to kill angels before."

"So let me get this straight," Sam said, "there are hoards of angel-killing pagan god-worshippers wandering through America unchecked, unguarded and unchallenged, and you just let them go about their business? Should we be doing something about this?"

"No," the angel replied. "They have weapons that can actually harm angels, and we aren't powerful enough now to challenge them. It's a stalemate. We only ever interfere under direct orders from the very top. Mostly we just leave them to their madness."

 

-

 

As it turned out, leaving demigods to their madness was a lot harder than it sounded.

It wasn't even two weeks later that Sam saw the kid again, walking through the streets of New York. He stopped at an apartment block and entered the building. Sam didn't follow.

The week after that, the kid appeared again in yet another MacDonalds. He ordered six Happy Meals. They kept their heads down.

Sam started to notice other things as well - teenagers with swords and spears wandering through towns unnoticed, creatures that weren't quite human mingling through crowds, usually on crutches or walking abnormally. Once, he could have sworn he saw a herd of centaur running alongside the Impala at a distance.

Dean saw nothing, and usually dismissed his claims nervously as the results of sleep deprivation or stress. After all, they did live a rather chaotic lifestyle. But still Sam kept an eye out, just in case.

 

-

 

The fourth time Sam saw the kid, it wasn't under the best of circumstances.

 _Shit, shit, shit,_ he thought to himself as he and Dean ran through the trees. _Hellhounds? Really? Why can't we fight kittens or something, just for once?_

This was supposed to be a routine case - people going missing in a haunted house, wails at night - couldn't be anything but a regular ghost, right?

Wrong. So very wrong. They'd barely set foot in the house before they'd heard the growling and realised what they were dealing with, and now they were running for their lives through a gloomy forest in the dead of night.

Fan- _fucking_ -tastic.

Suddenly Dean tripped, swearing as the hellhound reached him and tears began to appear in the fabric on the backs of his legs.

"Son of a bitch!"

"Dean!" Sam yelled. He tried to get close enough to attack, but it was almost impossible to figure out exactly where the stupid devil-dog was. _How am I supposed to fight something I can't even see?_

Turned out, he didn't have to.

"Heel!"

A familiar voice rang through the trees, and all movement stopped. Standing a few feet away was a figure Sam recognised easily.

The kid from the graveyard stood, one arm outstretched, with a stern expression on his face. "Good girl," he said. "Now sit."

Sam was expecting the hellhound to turn its invisible fangs on the kid. At the very least he was expecting a growl. What he was not expecting was a puff of dust as the enormous dog sat down eagerly.

"Good girl!" the kid exclaimed, his face splitting into a smile as he made his way to where the dog presumably was. "You're such a good dog! Now off you go. Go on, girl. Home." He pointed out into the trees. A small whine, and then the sound of large, doggy footprints walking away.

Then, silence.

At least, it would have been silence if not for Dean's almost immediate query of, "can you teach me to do that?"

 

-

 

The kid's name was Nico di Angelo, a fact that everyone seemed to agree was incredibly ironic. Victory of the angels? Quite a name for the son of a death god.

He was the son of Hades, specifically. Greek god of the Underworld. Sam was still trying to get his head around that. It was one thing for Cas to tell them about it; quite another to hear a thirteen-year-old talk like it was totally normal.

_I mean, demons, angels and God, capital G - I can deal with that. But the religion of a civilisation that died thousands of years ago? Yeah, I'll pass on that particular serving of crazy._

On the topic of Cas, Sam wondered if he was going to show up any time soon. The angel had disappeared before they'd started their hunt and no amount of prayer from either of the brothers seemed to be reaching him. Sam wondered if-

A flap of wings, a rush of air, and Sam knew exactly where Cas was, and that somewhere was right behind Nico di Angelo, flanking an angel with a knife at the kid's throat.

"Leave," the angel - Sam didn't recognise her - hissed at the brothers. "You aren't welcome here." Her outline was glowing just a little too bright and the shadows of wings were flickering on the walls. Sam got ready to close his eyes, and out of the corner of his eye saw Dean take a step forward.

"Whoa, hey, put the kid down," he said nervously, one hand reaching toward the angel. "Let's just talk about this."

"We've been doing some research," the angel snapped. "This demigod is the biggest current threat to angels in North America that I've seen. We're in agreement; he has to go before he kills any of us." As she spoke, Cas met Dean's gaze briefly before looking away. Two more people, one man and one woman, were by his side; Sam could only guess they were angels, but didn't recognise any of them. All three stood glaring at Nico with varying degrees of animosity.

The demigod let out a strangled cough, eyes rolling up to look at the face of the angel holding him as best he could. "You don't want to kill me, trust me," he rasped. "It'd just piss off my friends."

"Then we'll kill them too," the angel beside Cas said, but Nico cut her off with a choked laugh.

"Yeah, lady?" he said. "What do you even know about the demigods inside the camps? My friends are older and way more powerful than I am. They'd snap you in half."

"I'm sure we could handle them." The woman suddenly didn't sound so sure at all.

"Uh, ever heard the name Percy Jackson?"

All four angels recoiled as if they'd been struck. The woman lowered the knife from Nico's throat and the kid used the opportunity to break her hold, stumbling away. He grabbed his sword from his belt and Sam saw that it was made of some kind of jet-black metal.

"You let me go," he said, pointing the sword between him and the angels, "and I'll go straight back to camp. I'll stay out of your way for a year, guaranteed. Heck, I'll even reject quests!"

"You'll tell your gods they need to attack, and Heaven will be under siege," the angel with the knife said. "No, we're killing you now."

"You kill me and I go straight to the Underworld anyway. Hades will be up here before you can blink."

"He's right, Leilah," Castiel says.

"Well we can't just leave him here," Leilah argued back. "We need a way to contain him, especially if there's a chance Percy Jackson is actually still alive."

"We take him to Heaven," the angel to the right of Castiel, his vessel a tall man with dark skin, rubbed the back of his neck. "We can block off contact from there."

Leilah nodded. Nico took a step back, and Sam could see that the arm holding his sword was shaking. The shadows at the edge of the room were extending towards him like they had the first time the brothers had met the kid, but the aura all four angels were radiating seemed to push them back. The angel holding the knife stepped forward as wings appeared at her back, and Sam and Dean covered their eyes on instinct.

A rush of wind and feathers, and the motel fell into a dead silence. The brothers lowered their arms from their faces, and found themselves the only ones left in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never finished watching Supernatural, though I have gone through most of the first four seasons, so comments with feedback or advice on keeping everyone in character would be REALLY appreciated.
> 
> This is just a side thing I've been playing around with while procrastinating for my main fic Universe Slip (if you're interested, you can read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/2453939/chapters/5438768). As a result, updates will probably be a bit unpredictable, but that doesn't mean I won't dedicate time to it when I can. I'd love your input with suggestions for whatever direction you might want this to go in - it's still pretty much up in the air at the moment.
> 
> Next chapter: Percy gets Pissed Off, and Nico gets... wings?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all thought I was dead, huh

Nico hits the ground with a dull thump. For a second he goes to stand, and then decides that _nope, nope, that is not a thing that is happening right now,_ and lets his spinning head fall back to the floor. Whatever the hell it’s made of, it’s cool and smooth and just what he needs to anchor himself for a minute or two while the world gets itself back in order. His hands feel charged, like he’s holding them to a plasma ball, and there’s an uncomfortable weight on his back. His knees twinge with the beginnings of bruises. He’d kill for a nap.

A sharp jolt in- something? -jerks him into motion. He opens his eyes, regrets it, and then forces himself to acclimatise to the searing whiteness in front of him. Wherever he was kicked- his shoulder? His back? It feels like someone’s pulled his hair, but that can’t be right -twitches slightly, and he hears a rustling noise above his ears.

“Get up, _demigod,”_ a voice sneers, and he recognises it as that of the woman from Sam and Dean’s place. His battle training kicks in before his brain and he rolls to the side, but something stops him from moving onto his back, leaving him to flounder for a moment before he shoves his arms under his torso and _pushes._

And promptly falls flat on his face. 

He tries again, this time with notably more success, and makes it to all fours. Whatever this is, it’s unbalancing him badly. He takes double care as he stands and almost trips backwards before bending forwards like he’s carrying a particularly heavy backpack. Once he’s sure he won’t trip the next time he moves, he looks up.

The- angels? Gods? He’s still little fuzzy on that one -seem to have made the trip in far better condition than he did. They’re in a semicircle around him, glaring. Behind their backs stretch huge, feathered wings that tower over their heads in mottled colours. Nico tries not to look at them too much. Frankly, they’re intimidating.

 _So who talks first?_ He thinks. _Should I say something? Should I wait for them to decree, like, eternal damnation or-_

“You’re the first child of Hades we’ve seen in a long time, _di Angelo,”_ the angel with the knife sneers. “Your father must have broken his contract with us for you even to exist.”

“Been over the whole contract bit before,” Nico interjected quickly. “I was born before that. Long story.”

“We’ll hear it at the trial,” another angel says. “In the meantime, he’ll need somewhere to stay.”

 

-

 

The walk is both long and short. Nico honestly doesn’t know how far they travel before they reach the old oak door. As he paces quietly, back still bent with that uncomfortable weight, he keeps catching flickers of movement out of the corner of his eyes. Soft fabric of a skirt. A glimpse of braided brown hair. Once, he thinks he hears laughter, but it fades before he can place it.

The door, when they reach it, is worn and scratched, but beneath the markings littered across it he can see ornate decorations that remind him of the little church his mother used to take him and Bianca to. St. something-or-other, he forgets. It wasn’t like they really had much of a Christian background, anyway.

“Finally,” Nico hears one of the angels mutter. “You’d think he was a blank slate.” He pays them little mind. Is the door- humming?

The angel with the knife - Leilah, he thinks, but he’s not sure - grabs his shoulder, and opens the door at the same time as she shoves him forward. He stumbles through the doorway and almost falls back to the floor, but catches himself just in time. The lock clicks heavily behind him.

The first thing Nico notices is the worn earth path beneath him. The second is the feeling of sun on the back of his neck. The third is the faint and somehow sweet scent of smoke. He has a pretty good idea of where he is, and when he looks up, it’s confirmed.

He’s back at Camp Halfblood, in the middle of the dining area. The bonfire is crackling steadily but he can’t see anyone eating or even training nearby. The only sound is that of the wind scurrying across the grass. Across the hills, he can see the sun reflecting sharply off the water beyond the beach.

One hand on his sword, he makes his way towards the Hades Cabin. The fiend-fire in the brackets outside the door is blazing emerald. He steps inside and is greeted with his cabin, exactly how he left it. Not just tidy or in order, but _exactly_ how it had been when he’d left it that morning. His shirts are strewn across his messy red sheets, his shoes in a pile by the bedpost - though someone’s added a few drachmas to the pile of gold below the shrine to Hades, he’s sure of it. Probably Percy, trying to slip him extra change for Iris-messages. _Jeez, that guy can worry._

His eye flicks to a polished plate of bronze, and the first thing he registers is something _big_ and _black_ and _right behind him._ He spins around, almost loses balance, and catches himself on a shield in its stand next to him. He looks back at the reflection.

Not one something, but two; behind him two huge black shapes are curving over his head. He moves, and they move with him.

Slowly, he reaches a hand back. His fingers make contact with the sharp smoothness of flight feathers; the kind he’d expect on an eagle, not _his own back._ And then he has to stop and take a deep breath in, because _holy fuck, he has wings._

He resolves to test his flying skills as soon as possible. In the meantime, he needs to contact someone. Fast.

Nico scoops up a couple of drachmas and drops them into his pocket. Leaving his cabin, he moves on to Poseidon’s, the glowing trident above the door glinting welcomingly as he steps inside. Percy’s fountain gives off a haze of saltwater, its sharp ocean scent filling the room. He makes his way towards it, but then stops, because in Percy’s bed he can see Percy, lying there, snoring.

_Thank the gods._

Nico rushes over and shakes the sone of Poseidon by the shoulder. Or, he tries to. The second his hands touch Percy’s shoulder, they also start to slip right through. There’s resistance, like air pressure, but as Nico watches he can clearly see his fingers moving through the other boy’s shoulder. His hands snap with pins and needles. Percy’s eyes fly open.

Percy’s hand immediately flies to his shoulder as Nico takes a hasty step back. “Ouch,” he mutters. “the hell?”

“Percy!” Nico cries. “Percy, I’m so glad to see you, I-” but Percy’s getting up and not even looking at him. He walks forward and Nico darts out of the way, but too slowly - their feet touch and Nico’s go _through_ Percy’s toes and holy shit if that’s not the craziest thing ever and Percy’s on the floor, swearing. He looks around and his eyes go straight through the son of Hades.

_I’m invisible._

_Well, shit._

Invisible or not, he needs to get through to Percy somehow. When those angels come back he’s going to need someone on his side - or at the very least, someone who has some idea of where he is. Shoving a hand in his pocket, he fishes out one of the drachmas he’d grabbed before. _Worth a shot, I guess._ He throws it into the fountain.

“Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, accept my offering.” He hopes like hell the gods can still hear him at this point. “Show me Percy Jackson at Camp Half-Blood!”

The effect is like a mirror of himself in the fountain. He’s looking at at Iris-message of himself. This is weird.

“Percy!” he shouts, and the son of Poseidon snaps his head up. 

“Nico!” Percy says, rushing towards the fountain. “What are you- ah!” he yells as he runs into, and partially through, Nico’s wings. Nico winces at the stabbing pins and needles that run through his new limbs.

“The hell was that?” Percy asks.

“Oh- I’m, um, I’m standing there.” Nico apologises. “I’ll explain in a sec - just try stepping a couple of paces to the right?”

Percy gets up, cautiously avoiding the spot where he’d run into Nico, and comes at the fountain from a slightly different angle. The result is both of them staring at an Iris-message of them standing side by side.

“Nico, what the hell is going on? No-one’s heard from you in days! Are those- wings? Man, where the heck have you been?”

“Days?” Nico asks, confused. “I was at camp just this morning. I even checked and all my stuff’s still there like I left it.”

“Yeah, like you left it _three days ago._ What the hell is going on?”

“Listen,” Nico says, “long story short, I met some mortals this evening. I’d seen them around before, hanging out with what I _thought_ was some kind of grave spirit - got super protective when I made a sacrifice in his graveyard - but, um, he’s not a grave spirit, and I’m not really sure where I am now, and I might have just met some angels?” He’s getting less and less coherent as he goes along, and he knows it. “They left me here. It’s like camp, but it’s _not_ camp, not really, because I can contact you but obviously you can’t see me directly, and also it’s sunny as hell.”

“Angels.” Percy deadpans.

“Yup.”

“Like, Christian mumbo-jumbo-type angels?”

“Yup.”

“This is bad.”

“That’s what I thought too. Can you go get Chiron for me?”

“Nico, it’s two in the morning.”

“I know, but I’m not sure when these guys will be back, and frankly I’m not sure I’m particularly safe at the moment. I need someone to help me get out of here fast.”

Something in Percy’s eyes shifts, and he nods. “I’ll be right back.” He dashes out of the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make NO promises for update speed, but I've had this sitting here for a while now and I was like "what the hell, may as well post it". Also, I have no idea where this is going. I may just be procrastinating writing my Literature essay right now.  
> Thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos on the first chapter - hope this one met expectations!


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